back for a quarter of a mile, and little Pete
Skidmore was out of sight.

"Better go back and look for little Pete, Shorty," said Si. "We seem to
be losin' him."

Pete was soon brought up, panting and tired.

"Dod durn it, what're you all runnin' away from me for?" he gasped.
"Want to lose me? Want to git into the fight all by yourselves, and
leave me out? Think because I'm little I can't help? I kin shoot as well
as anybody in the crowd, dod durn you."

"There, you see the nonsense o' giving you as much rations as the
others," suggested Alf Russell. "You can't pack 'em, and you wouldn't
need 'em if you did pack 'em."

"What business is it of yours. Mister Russell, I'd like to know," asked
Monty Scruggs, "what he does with his rations. His rations are his
rights, and he's entitled to 'em. It's nobody's business what use a man
makes of his rights."

"Where are these rebels that we're goin' to fight?" asked Harry Joslyn,
eagerly scanning the horizon. "I've been looking for 'em all along, but
couldn't see none. Was you in such a hurry for fear they'd get away, and
have they got away?"

"I wasn't in no hurry," answered Si. "That was only regler marchin'
gait."

"Holy smoke," murmured the rest, wiping their foreheads; "we thought you
was trying to run the rebels down."

"Don't be discouraged, boys," said Si. "You'll soon git used to marchin'
that way right along, and never thinking of it. It may seem a little
hard now, but it won't last long. I guess you're rested enough.
Attention! Forward!--March!"

Si and Shorty had mercifully intended to slow down a little, and not
push the boys. But as they pulled out they forgot themselves, and fell
again into their long, swinging stride, that soon strung the boys
out worse than ever, especially as they were not now buoyed up by an
expectation of meeting the enemy.

"We must march slower. Si," said Shorty, glancing ruefully back, "or
we'll lose every blamed one o' them boys. They're too green yit."

"That's so," accorded Si. "It's like tryin' to make a grass-bellied
horse run a quarter-stretch."

"Might I inquire," asked Monty Scruggs, as he came up, wiped his face
and sat down on a rock, "whether this is what you'd call a forced march,
or merely a free-will trial trot for a record."

"Neither," answered Si. "It's only a common, straight, every-day march
out into the country. You kin count upon one a day like this for the
rest o' your natural lives--I mean your servi